The Company of the Hand
by Modicus
Summary: A short tale about a band of fools, a scribe, and a dragon. Sometimes, you just shake your head and wonder why some people decide to become adventurers in the first place. Please R & R, love it or hate it. More to come, but not about these poor fools...


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Disclaimer

This is a work of fanfiction, inspired by the Forgotten Realms campaign setting created by Ed Greenwood for the Dungeons and Dragons roleplaying game. No profit is ever expected to be made from this work, save for my own enjoyment in writing it and those who hopefully will enjoy reading it. All of the Realms places, characters or situations are copyrighted by Wizards of the Coast, and used solely in the spirit of fanfiction. Any references to places, peoples( living, dead or undead )are purely coincidental and assuredly not the work of a higher power that even now may be looking at you from a different plane. Enjoy!

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Author's Notes

This is a story based on( yes, you guessed it )an adventuring group from one of my many roleplaying sessions. I don't normally take notes as detailed as this session's were, or even write stories about most of the many game sessions I have played over the years. However, seeing as my character was the scribe of the group, and they all got what they deserved, well… read on. It guarantee you it is short, not very dull at all, and that you will have forgotten you read it by next week.

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The Company Of The Hand®

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as told by Modicus, Cleric of Gond

Ó Waterdeep Scribing Services Inc. All rights Reserved. 

The Company Of The Hand formed, as many adventuring companies do, in the common taproom of a traveler's inn. The _Golden Pheasant_, in Silverymoon, was such a place. Here, gathered in the warmth of friends and buoyed by the smell of good food and the soothing smack of ale, can people form bonds to last a lifetime. That night, a legend was born, of a company whose glory would live long into the days past when all whom the tales told of were since dust.

Slag Backbreaker, a stalwart human gladiator, formed the backbone of the Company. His strong shoulders bore well he mantle of leadership, and his sense of justice led him to great deeds of valor. Joining him was the human mage Valarios, noted for his arcane power and his cool head in battle. Bander, the gnomic fighter, always had a trick to pull from his sleeve when the moment was dire. Pious FaithHammer, a human priest of Lathander, patched up the group's wounds more times than can be counted; he was the rock they could turn to when battle-weakened and needful of rest. Rounding out the Five was Donovan, a human fighter of uncertain temper but a ready sword that he claimed had shed the heartsblood of many a foe.

I, of course, am Brother Melvin, faithful servant of Gond the Wonderbringer. Through the humble scratchings of my pen, do leap to life the tales of these heroes, to warm your souls by the firelight in this, the autumn of my days.

It was the 7th day of Hammer, in The Year of Gauntlet. Silverymoon lay beneath a white blanket of snow, fresh-fallen like a mantle of lace upon the beauty of that fair city. I had recently arrived, weary from the road and resting my cold bones in the warmth of The Golden Pheasant Inn. A flagon of firewine lay half-empty before me, as I watched the inhabitants of the Inn go about their business as they do in taverns the Realms over. A particular group caught my eye; a huge gladiator, with a great maul strapped to his back sat at a table with a tiny gnome and a bald human who looked to be a mage. They were deep in conversation, obviously laying plans for some treasure haul or a raid on a local monster-lair. I sipped my drink and worked away at the last of my venison, determined to ward off the winter with some extra girth about my middle.

I retired that evening to the sounds of a bard tuning his lyre; his soulful tune lulled me to sleep as it seeped between the floorboards of my small room. The next morn I turned out early, eating breakfast in the bustle of the busy Inn. I took it upon myself to explore the streets of the city, as I had never been this far North. I wandered about, taking in the lovely scope of the buildings and marveling at the care that every stone of the city seemed to have been laid with. I put my faith in Gond to guide my path, as I was and ever have been but a cog in his Great Machine. About midday I found the signpost for my path. Actually, it was a crude notice posted on one of the public waybill-walls. It seemed that a scribe was needed to detail the adventures of a newly formed company, and the pay looked positively enticing. Not having any other plans to speak of, I headed off to claim the position, words of a contract already forming in my head. I arrived there soon after lunch, and ordered myself some duck as I searched about for my employers --to-be.

They sat nearby, seeming to fight amongst themselves, but I soon took it for simple rowdiness. As it turned out, my new employers were the gladiator and his friends from the previous evening. I sat myself at their table, thinking that a show of strength would get me far with their good graces. I accepted a challenge from Slag, expecting him to fight to a certain point and then admit defeat. It was one of my few errors. We stepped outside, and he struck me with his maul; the second blow followed the first like a herd of charging ogres…

When I came to, I was lying on a slab in the temple of Lathander, sorely wounded but alive. Slag was there; he explained that he had thought I was somewhat 'tougher' than I was… and that his second blow had slain me. Slag had felt it his moral duty to raise me, a fact that I find generous though somewhat disgruntling for the fact that I was so easily vanquished. In the future, I vowed to be far more careful; the continued returns from the realms of the dead are very taxing on a person's constitution.

I met my new companions again at The Golden Pheasant, where we quickly worked out and signed a contract. I was now the official scribe for The Company Of The Hand, at a rate of 1 gold per week plus danger pay. I was content; at last I would see the Realms from a view other than from the inside of a Temple or the dusty windows of a workshop! We settled down in the Inn for the night, my new friends engaging in rowdy but friendly feats of strength amongst themselves. We all retired to rest before the witching hour.

The next morning, the 9th of Hammer, found us in the common room of the Golden Pheasant. I had just met an elf by the name of Quicksilver, whom the others seemed already aquatinted with. Suddenly, the elf cast a spell… and we appeared shin-deep in a muggy swamp deep in the Jungles of Chult. Needless to say this was somewhat of a surprise, though my companions took it in stride. We moved to the west, traveling for a little less than ten minutes before we encountered the first of the Jungle's denizens.

From the brush ahead appeared a huge reptile head, at least twenty feet off the ground. It was quickly joined by four others of the like, who all charged in to attack us. Valarios blasted one with a _lightning bolt _that slew the beast in an instant. Quicksilver shocked us all by grappling with another of the beasts, tearing it's teeth apart in a savage attack that laid it to rest forever. The remaining three beasts turned tail and ran, but still managed to wound both Bander and Slag during their headlong retreat.

After this attack, we rested there in the clearing, I applying my healing skills alongside that of my priest-brother Pious. We soon moved on, with Quicksilver and Slag breaking into an inexplicable race through the undergrowth; foolish in this land of dangers. Quicksilver ran like the front-runner of a hurricane, leaving Slag far behind in a few moments. Valarios, seeming to want to join in the fun, decided to throw his staff quite far ahead. Perhaps he intended for it to show any hidden dangers that lay ahead? I do no know. Quicksilver reached the thrown staff first, and heaved it mightily. It flew again for over two hundred feet before it stopped suddenly in midair and fell to the earth, as if it had struck something unseen. As it fell, the staff cried out in a strange loud voice "Dragon Alert" for twenty-five turns of the glass. This stopped us all cold in our tracks; Valarios' magic had detected a dragon! He threw a rock towards the spot where the staff had fallen from the air; it disappeared! The same thing happened to rocks thrown by Quicksilver. We were puzzled, until a sudden magical silence fell upon us.

The group scattered in a heartbeat's time. Bander ran while firing random crossbow bolts, to no visible effect. I was still writing furiously in my journal when Slag screamed for me to stop and defend myself. From what I could not see, but I did as he bade me to. I stuffed my journal into my rucksack, drew my mace, and waited with my back defensively against a large tree.

My story resumes with my revival from deep unconsciousness. We had found a Mist dragon, which became visible and breather scalding steam upon us. When I came to, we were at it's lair; the beast lay dead nearby, massive wounds upon it's body. The Company had been badly mauled as well; Quicksilver was missing a leg, yet amazingly was still quite functional. Valarios' right hand was a horribly mangled mess, and Bander was bleeding from a multitude of slashing wounds. Slag explained that he himself had been wounded by a tail slap from the dragon, and had borne the full brunt of a blast from it's breath weapon. As I struggled to heal their wounds and mine, Bander blathered on about heroism of some sort… I ignored him as I worked.

We gathered the Mist Dragon's treasure together, then _teleported_ back to Silverymoon by way of Quicksilver's magic. He had pretended to call upon the divine mercy of any god who was listening to rescue us from Chult, but I knew better…

We spent a brief time resupplying and healing, then we moved on. Quicksilver_ teleported _us to the city of Hillsfar, on the coast of the Sea Of Fallen Stars. Here, we met the beautiful Lady Seraphin, who told us she was a guide sent by the Quickling Lord to help us. Seraphin also said she was here to keep an eye on Valarios and report directly to the Council Of Worms. This last statement made me uneasy, but I was happy to have such an obviously powerful adventurer along to lend her swordarm. 

After a brief rest, the company headed out once more to adventure, having heard that there were several strange dragons lurking in the heavy woods nearby that had been menacing travelers through the area. I thought we departed rather in haste and foolishly, for we had not so much as asked the locals the disposition or history of the beasts before we set foot upon the trail. Still, if my companions are so confidant of success, I must needs agree with them, as they have far more experience in dealing with the beasts than I.

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Editor's Note: Here the tale ends, for the documents carried by Brother Melvin were too shredded and blood-soaked to be readable beyond this point. The remains of his body were discovered near the Fang Dragon's lair by another adventuring company, allowing the notes to be given to the proper authorities. The tale you have just read was taken from a copy that Melvin had been compiling in his spare moments from his journey-notes, right up to the moment he left on what was to be his last adventure.


End file.
